Warhammer 60k: Disciples of Insanity: The True Faith
by TheOtherWriter101
Summary: NOW MOVED TO NEW SITE: The Bolthole
1. Prologue

**The True Faith**

The True Faith is a horrific amalgamation of mortal Cults, astartes Warbands and daemonic hordes all sworn to the dictates of the True Faith itself, an ideology born of the Word of Lorgar and twisted to serve the purposes of the Daemon-Saint, Azunar and, by extension, the Draziin-Maton, to whom Azunar had pledged eternal servitude. Where once they burned worlds for the Dark Gods, the Ruinous Powers have faded into minor states of reverence, and have been replaced by the worship of the One True God: The Nex- [FRAGMENT MISSING, PLEASE KILL]

During the dark era of the Second Age of Strife, the True Faith had yet to rise. At that time, the Dread Apostle Azunar the Truthbringer was not yet ascended to Daemonhood, and lead the twisted crusades from the front. Not tied down by either Abaddon's Chaos Imperium or Huron's own domain, the Host of the Truthbringer had outposts and launching points throughout both, and ignored the hostilities between the two, instead focusing on their true mission: spreading the taint of the Warp as much as possible.

Even during the time of the Imperium of Man, the followers of Azunar had been obsessed with the Warp, their fanatic dedication to the Dark Gods manifesting as an intense hatred for the veil between worlds. Creating Daemon Worlds was an act of divine justice in their deranged minds, and with the death of the Imperium, they were prepared to march through the galaxy, bringing ruin to all they encountered.

Or at least, that's what would have happened if not for a sudden change in the Apostle's goals. Rather than unleash themselves as a tide of destruction upon the Galaxy, or even aid their legion in the construction of the Chaos Imperium. No, something else was growing. Something of far greater importance.

The Death of the Emperor had awoken….. Something. The Apostle had felt it. Patterns that weren't in the Empyrean before had been forming. Something from the deepest warp was rising and descending, and it's tendrils wriggled their way into the Word Bearer's mind. A daemon of the Deep Warp, disguised as an angel of Ancient Terran faith, guided the Host of the Truthbringer into an alliance with El'Uriaq, promising them an ultimate truth behind the Warp: A truth that would finally grant them the power to defeat the adversaries of Chaos, even the hated Necrons and Tyranids.

Over the course of the Strife, the Host of the Truthbringer gathered Psykers and found ancient Eldar constructs, working alongside El'Uriaq and his cohorts of followers. Until at last, at the dawn of the 46th Millenium, the Host traveled to an isolated Hive World, their Psyker quarry in tow, and undertook a ritual of darkest power. We will detail the nature of this ritual later, but that was the day the Host of the Truthbringer died, and the True Faith was born.

After bringing a portion of the Nex into realspace, and by doing so, erasing an entire Sector from existence, the Host was utterly devoured by the Primal Horror they had summoned. Subsumed and embraced by all that was not, the members of the Host became far more, far less, and far worse than the already insane Astartes they once were. Each and every one of the 1,000 warriors of the Host were possessed by the dreaded Draziin, their bodies turned into roiling, formless Warpflesh contained within their armor, their Dreadnoughts and Helbrutes turned into even more twisted and insane forms. The Sanctified Desolation was renamed the Sanctified Dissolution, after their newfound God. All those Mortals who had found solace in the demented yet welcoming missionaries were turned to writhing spawn, merged with the floor, walls and ceiling of the vast fortress, adding themselves to the twisted, unreal geometries it was now adorned with. The only one spared this fate was Azunar himself, for after the thousands of years of conquest, and the sacrifice of an entire Sector, he became a Daemon Prince of the Deep Warp, a herald of the true End Times. And he would not have had it any other way. He had found God: not the glorious yet limited constructs of mortal urges, but the One True God: True Chaos, beyond all mortal reckoning.

Throughout the Age of Dusk, the True Faith grew, recruiting disparate Warbands and aiding the Daemonmancer El'Uriaq in his work. At that point, Legion of origin mattered not, only allegiance to the faith and the will of the Deep Warp. The original members of the Word Bearer Host became the Exalted, the highest rank of the faith, 1,000 warriors of insane faith and rampant mutation.

At the heart of the Sanctified Dissolution, the Daemon-King Azunar held court with the Draziin-Maton, communing with them over the nature of Chaos and the Deep Warp.

Now, in the 60th Millenium, the Daemon-King prepares for the Last War for creation. The Dissolution must triumph, or all will be lost.


	2. Persons

**List of Persons:**

 **Azunar, Saint of the Deep Madness** : Dark Apostle and later Daemon-King of the True Faith. Author of the _Book of The Depths,_ later added to the Second Word of Lorgar.

 **Mephiloth Daemonspeaker** : First Acolyte and later Exalted Ruinpriest of the True Faith. Right-Hand and Messenger of the Daemon-King.

 **Argus Malthael** : Coryphaus of the Host and later Exalted Ruinpriest. Terminator Lord of the Exalted.

 **Khaane** : Formerly Possessed Champion of Khorne, became Exalted Champion of the Path of Blood. Advisor to Azunar and Deacon of the _Scriptures of Slaughter_. Named after ancient prophet of Colchis.

 **Tezen:** Formerly Possessed Champion of Tzeentch, became Exalted Champion of the Path of Change. Advisor to Azunar and Deacon of the _Grimoires of Change._ Named after ancient prophet of Colchis.

 **Slanat:** Formerly Possessed Champion of Slaanesh, became Exalted Champion of the Path of Desire. Advisor to Azunar and Deacon of the _Canticles of Pleasure._ Named after ancient prophet of Colchis.

 **Narag:** Formerly Possessed Champion of Nurgle, became Exalted Champion of the Path of Decay. Advisor to Azunar and Deacon of the _Tomes of Corruption._ Named after ancient prophet of Colchis.

 **Valecore Forge-Priest** : Draziin-Possessed Warpsmith. Ruinpriest of the Path of Innovation.

 **The Illuminor:** Maiden of the Deep Warp.


	3. Story 1: Nightmare Taking Shape

**Story Fragment 1: Nightmares Taking Form**

The floor and walls reverberated from the impacts of enemy fire. Warpflame and daemonic guns blared as the battle raged.

Argus stood upon the Command Deck for the Sanctified Desolation. The deck was covered in daemonic growths and baroque architecture. Mutated madmen babbled at the half-living control consoles, their bodies long-since fused to their stations, laughing and wailing as they sent the neurological signals to fire the star-forts cannons upon the enemy.

In the distance, the Goliath Engine and Planet Killer sparred, as the Sanctified Desolation fired from all sides upon as many ships as possible.

The Host of the Truthbringer fought alongside Abaddon and his budding Chaos Imperium. And the battle seemed to be grinding to a standstill.

That soon changed, as the Planet Killer, appearing damaged, fled through the Void, the Goliath Engine in swift pursuit.

The disappearance of the capital ships of both fleets was a swift reroll of the dice. Argus swiftly recalculated his stance.

"Direct fire towards the Iron Warriors Battle Barge _Furious Steel_." Argus commanded. "All guns."

In seconds the Sanctified Desolation turned it's weaponry to focus on the singular ship, rather than target multiple enemies at once.

The Desolation continued to take fire, but soon the Battle Barge's shields were shattered and the hull exposed.

Daemonic salvos screamed into the ship's chassis, Furies biting and clawing their way through deck after deck as sentient ammunition. The _Furious Steel_ crumbled upon itself, flaring up and going dark in a swirl of flame.

Argus smiled. Another trophy for the Dark Gods.

* * *

Mephiloth strode through the hallways of the dark and priestly stronghold. The Desolation had always been a place of fervent worship, but the Inner Sanctum of the sprawling, daemonic Star-Fort was the most consecrated of ground. Dreadnought-High stone tablets detailed passage after passage of the Book of Lorgar, placed along the walls, whilst in other hallways, Astartes tombs honored the fallen and martyred. Shrines to the Dark Gods were a continuous sight anywhere in the Desolation, but here, at it's heart, the walls began to lose it's script and statues, replaced by a long corridor of runic, onyx stone, the walls carved in ways that formed occult patterns, from a flat surface to a intricately-detailed artwork displaying countless daemonic gods and revelatory visions of the Warp.

The hallway lead to a single door, behind which lay the very center of the Inner Sanctum: The Apostle's private chamber.

Two Terminator warriors of the Anointed guarded the intricate gate of daemon-iron. Mephiloth nodded to them and one turned to press a control pad on one of the walls.

The gate opened with a slow creak, mixed with the quiet screams of countless damned souls. The Apostle's lair had always been stepped in Warp-lore.

The inner chamber was dark, as always. Mephiloth could see none of the doubtlessly massive chamber, save for the sorcery-infused galaxy map on the faraway ceiling, and the baleful light of the Warp Rift reactor below. However, the Apostle's presence could be felt throughout the chamber.

"What do you want, Mephiloth?" A cold voice, both far away and right in front of him, asked.

Mephiloth bent down on one knee and turned his gaze to the floor. "I have only come to inform you of victory, Apostle. The alliance of Perturabo and Angron has fallen. Abaddon's Chaos Imperium is secure."

The only response was a laugh. A long, soft chuckle, cold and cynic. "Good. Now leave me, unless you have other matters to bring up."

Mephiloth hesitated. Angering his Lord would mean a fate worse than death, but he had served alongside the Apostle for millennia. He took a breath and answered.

"My lord," He began, "You have scarcely left this chamber for the past... I do not remember how long."

"One hundred years." The voice answered. "I've been isolated for a full century now."

"Y-yes." Mephiloth continued. "And... your host misses your holy word, lord. I have been the one delivering the Sermons in your absence, as you ordered, but... why have you been so distant? What are you doing in this chamber?"

There was a long silence.

And then, the Apostle laughed. It had all the charisma of the past, but something had indeed changed. The Apostle sounded ... distant. Almost unhinged.

"You really want to know?" The Apostle asked, amusement in his voice.

"Yes, my lord." Mephiloth responded.

"Very well then." Azunar said, almost triumphantly. "Come back in a single standard day. A revelation is coming."

Mephiloth was confused but bowed his head, and exited. The warp-infused doors sealed behind him.

Mephiloth could sense something was different. The Apostle was planning something.

But what?

* * *

The incessant droning of prayer and worship was almost a miasma throughout the entirety of the fortress.

The Inner Sanctum was a Fortress Monastery in it's own right, but around and beneath it were the manifold settlements of the mortal crew. Trillions of mutants, cultists and the other dregs of humanity, thousands of different cults formed, reformed and destroyed every day. Countless warp-dabblers constantly debating the philosophies and metaphysical truths that correctly represented the Warp. Across countless halls, decks and engineering platforms, the mutant rabble did their duties, many willingly sacrificed in the dark rituals of the Host's Chosen, many more thrown into the fiery forges and engine-wombs of Valecore the Forge-Father.

But Mephiloth was unconcerned with the activities of his brothers. Swiftly he sped through hallway upon hallway, past countless twisted shrines and temples to the Ruinous Powers, before at last reaching the Apostle's chambers.

Entering, he found a sight truly worthy of an Apostle's work.

Countless skinless, crucified slaves adorned the twisted, arched walls of the roughly circular, utterly black chamber. They chanted the names of countless Neverborn, never ceasing in their chanting, every moment more and more names spoken, more and more warp-entities drawn to the chamber. Countless cursed and warp-tainted tomes of warp-lore were stacked atop one another along the walls, forming spires and mounds of insane literacy. Strangely enough, though Mephiloth probably didn't notice, several tomes were ancient beyond imagining, dating back to the ages of Old Earth.

A vast canvas of skin hung from the ceiling above the altar at the chamber's center, and the Apostle was painting unto it in dozens of pigments, many the flesh-moss organisms drawn from the Warp, others human blood.

The Apostle stood upon the Altar itself, working upon the vast sheet.

Mephiloth knelt and bowed his head. "My lord." He said obediently.

Azunar turned and looked upon Mephiloth, smiling wickedly. "Arise, my Acolyte. Arise and look upon my work!"

Mephiloth looked upon the canvas. Painted in a fluid so dark it seemed to erase light around it was a massive tree - or rather, a set of ten spheres connected in a tree-like structure of lines. At the top-most sphere was the symbol of Malal, the Renegade God, a skull of black and white. To it's immediate left was the symbol of Tzeentch, the Changer of Ways. To the right was the bloody symbol of Khorne, the Rune of Endless Slaughter. Directly below it festered the rune of Nurgle, god of Despair and Decay. To the right of the plagued sphere was one emblazoned with the symbol of the newest God: Slaanesh, the Prince of Pleasure. Mephiloth saw that the symbols seemed to be working their way downward along the 'tree' based on the holy numbers of the Gods themselves, almost like ... a count-down.

"Something is stirring in the Warp." Azunar breathed, awe in his voice as he stared at the tree. "Something vast and powerful beyond all reckoning. I can feel it call to me... in a fit of feverish visions, I was forced into creating this."

"But master," Mephiloth asked, utterly confounded by the sight before him. "What does the symbol mean?"

Azunar slowly turned toward Mephiloth. Warp-blood seeped through the Apostle's veins and nameless _things_ scurried just beneath his skin, his body seething with minor, unnoticeable mutations. The Apostle grinned with unhinged glee.

"I don't know." The Apostle said, a feverish and wild look in his old eyes. "I don't know..."


	4. Interlude: Sanctified Desolation

**Interlude: The Sanctified Desolation**

The Sanctified Desolation, known as the Eternal Cathedral of Sanctified Dissolution in it's later, more infamous years, is one of the oldest Altarships, perhaps the origin point of the Altarship design. It is a vast, chaotic Star-Fort, housing a chapter-sized host of Word Bearer Astartes, and teeming hordes of cultists.

The fort is shaped in the eight-pointed star of Chaos. Each 'point' is bedecked with baroque architecture and ship-to-ship weaponry of dozens of cruel, demented varieties, as well as docking bays with which to take in and unleash fleets of escorts and cruisers.

The Desolation is divided into three sectors: The Greater Station, the Inner Sanctum, and the Apostle's Lair.

 _Greater Station:_

The Greater Station, known as the Basilica of the Faithful, is the term applied to all 8 'points' as well as the outer parts of the central keep. This place is like a sprawling Hive City, where countless cults and warbands of mortal detritus rise and fall in conflict with one another, all grouped together under the name of 'The Faithful.' They are, however, united in their faith to their Astartes patrons, which oversee the religious practices of the many mutant herds and cultist organizations and ensure that they all serve the Apostle's purpose of having them in the first place.

Countless apostate preachers, fearsome demagogues and insane warlords rise and fall among the mortal caste almost daily. But regardless, it is these cultists who man the guns, repair the fort and serve the Astartes. One of the teachings of the Apostle, after all, was on the many purposes of mortalkind. As such, they are treated a modicum more respectfully than the average cruelty of the Word Bearers. This is not to say they aren't exploited to serve the purposes of the warband.

 _Inner Sanctum:_

The central structure from which the eight point constructs emerge is a fully functional Fortress Monastery to the Host of the Truthbringer. Here, Astartes train in gladiatorial pits, heed sermons from the hierarchy of Chosen, contemplate the majesty and power of Chaos in their personal abodes, and commit themselves to the teachings of the Book of Lorgar.

In the forges, Valecore the Forge-Lord commences deranged experiment after deranged experiment. The disturbed Warpsmith war unceasing in his dedication to the ways of the Daemon-forge, crafting ever more demented forms of Daemon Engine. In the vague shape of a Maulerfiend, the Fiend of Blades is a mass of writhing tendrils, covered in curved, shifting blades sharp enough to cut through ceramite. The Dread-Class Plasma Pistols and Plasma Guns were modified to spew daemonfire rather than plasma. And yet no matter how many twisted varieties of weapon he crafted, he always felt unsatisfied. Whether it was his own maniacal ego or the whispers of the Warp, Valecore knew something was missing. But what?

In the Librarium, the Ruinpreists of the warband studied the arcane lore of the Warp and discussed together on the teachings of Lorgar. 300 Chosen Chaos Space Marines, some possessed, some not, held the title of Ruinpriest, lesser ecclesiastical emissaries to the Apostle's own creed. There is only one 1st Acolyte, but that doesn't mean there shouldn't be a second, or a third...

All across the Inner Sanctum, the astartes prepared for ever more conquest, eager to burn worlds in the name of the Dark Gods. But for the longest time, their Apostle has been in absence...

 _Apostle's Lair_

At the heart of the Sanctified Desolation lies a series of esoterically-designed chambers, black, curved stone walls. Libraries of forbidden lore, altars for daemonic rituals, a three-dimensional map of the galaxy, crafted from powerful sorceries, all at the disposal of the Apostle known as Azunar the Truthbringer. For ten thousand years he had lit entire worlds aflame as pyres with which to burn unbelievers, spread the influence of the Warp, unleashed tides of Daemons across countless battlefields. The ancient Lord of Chaos was busy at a great work: unraveling the meaning behind the Warp itself.

The Primordial Truth that Lorgar had discovered was the Song behind the universe, the psychic energy that underlies the Materium. The metaphysical implications of the Warp's existence was extensive, and the Word Bearers had, for a long time, reveled in the Warp's power. But, the Gods were born from Mortal action, not from any higher, divine implication. It was glorious that psychic activity became reality in the Warp, but was that all there was in the higher realms? A spiritual echo of the material ones?

Many crazed theologians throughout the millenia believed the Warp and Chaos was first begot by some wider force: that the Chaos Gods were not Gods at all, but rather aspects of a singular entity. This view held little ground and was for the most part rejected by Sorcerer and Apostle alike, and yet now, new patterns were forming in the Warp. Patterns that no God could claim, that defied all of their domains.

Azunar felt a calling. Something was causing tomes to spontaneously appear in his midst. Tomes of ancient, old earth religions and philosophies on the nature of the divine. And more importantly, he felt something else. Something rising ever upward and outward from the deepest Warp, massive and yet, for now, completely unseen. But what?

The Apostle had absolutely no idea what was ahead of him, but he knew one thing: Answers were approaching.


	5. Story 2: Shapes in the Deep

**Story Fragment** **2: Shapes in the Deep**

The Apostle stood at an Altar, an ancient tome in hand. In the past months he had been studying the ancient theologies of Old Earth. The Throne of God, the realm beyond heaven, beneath and above it, seat of the ultimate entity, the monotheistic embodiment and ruler of all. The end times, the era of destruction and renewal, the annihilation of a sinful world to give way to a better one. The Messianic age, the time when a god-given savior will reign and bring about the end of all war, poverty and suffering. The world to come, a world of pure divinity to replace the imperfect one of here and now.

But the dimwit philosophies of Old Earth did not interest him. What interested him was the origin of the books themselves. Rhythmically, he would be forced into a trance-like state, filled with visions of daemons and mind-blasting nightmare, and when he resurfaced into reality, there would be more books. A daemon was bringing them here. But why? What game was it playing at?

As if to answer the Chaos Lord's inquiries, the veil parted and a rift was torn open between Realspace and the Warp. The daemon revealed itself.

The Apostle turned to look upon an especially deceitful spawn of the Warp. It took a form reflecting the ancient religions and teachings the Apostle had studied: An angel, it's lithe, feminine body made of metal plates curved together, bladed, broken wings growing from it's back. In the place of a face was gold-tinted glass, and within it's hollow head, black, surreal shapes slithered and lurked.

 _Apostle._ The entity said. _Lord of the Threefold Pyre of Acrya. Weaver of the Immaterium's strands. Truthbringer. Your legacy precedes you._

"Enough words, Daemon." The Apostle snarled at the interloper. "I know the manner of Daemons and their deceitful promises. You have been spoon-feeding me these old philosophies, and for your sake I hope you explain why."

 _Of course._ The entity said, kneeling in a half-curtsy. _For the purposes of my mission, you may call me Illuminor. Bringer of Truth._

The Word Bearer Lord sneered. "Bringer of Truth? I already bear the title of Truthbringer. Whatever you have come here for, it seems somewhat redundant."

 _Is it, though?_ The Angel asked, floating around Azunar in a circle. _Dreams of things beyond even your understanding fill your mind. You sense my patron rising from the deep, yet you cannot see or name it. Do you not desire a chance to fight for more than... yourself?_

That had pushed the Apostle the wrong way. He unleashed a wave of warp-spawned power at the Daemon, intent on tearing it to shreds.

An aura of black, Stygian energy engulfed the Illuminor as Azunar's attack washed over it harmlessly.

The Apostle's eyes widened. "How...?"

 _I am the messenger of the Patron of Patrons._ The daemon-thing responded. _The Xenos are rising in all their forms, and at this rate, Chaos will do more to harm it's chances of survival than help them. I am here to show you the path to salvation, to lead you down the path Lorgar had missed. Tell me, Son of the XVII Legion: Are you prepared?_

The Apostle was silent, bowing his head in confusion, respect and fear. "... You believe I am worthy of seeing what Lorgar has not?"

The Illuminor would have smiled had it possessed a mouth. _It is not a matter of worthiness. It is a matter of capability. And you, dear Apostle, are more than capable._

The Apostle was silent. Then he sighed, and asked "What must I do?"

The daemon thing grabbed the Apostle's hand and in an instant dragged him into the Warp.

* * *

The Apostle looked left and right. The storms of the Warp screamed and raged about him as usual, the madness of the immaterium as confusing and random as he had left it last.

 _It is said that the warp contains the emotions and consequences of every decision and thought conceivable in reality; every possible idea or emotion that could ever exist._ The angel-thing said. _You know this to be true._

"Yes." The Apostle replied cynically. "And many Warp-Scholars and even exalted Daemon Princes believe that it is only so in reaction to the presence of mortal psychic activity. That without the Materium, the Warp would be utterly still, grey, and dead."

 _But you know that isn't true._ The angel said.

"Do I?" Azunar asked snarkily. "I have heard the lies of a thousand daemons, how is this any different?"

 _Because you, Apostle, like all of your priest-kin, can read the Warp, to a greater or lesser extent. And your senses see something, of that you are sure._ The daemon responded. _Tell me, do you know of the chaotic belief that all the Ruinous Powers are not entities at all, but in fact emanations and aspects of a singular, all-powerful God?_

"I am aware of that idea." The Apostle responded. "But what difference does that belief make? Their is little evidence for that claim, as their is little evidence for the idea of Chaos' immortality. The Gods still squabble, as always, and as you said with your forked tongue, I have nothing to fight for but 'myself.'"

 _The Well of Eternity._ The daemonic maiden said, the serene calm ever-present and unnerving. _All time flows forth from the Well, and returns to it in the end. It rises from the well and collides with the Material Universe, creating events and the outcomes of choices. But what of the choices not made? What of the acts not done?_

The Apostle was puzzled by the question. "What?"

 _Look._ The Maiden said, motioning to the border between Realspace and the Warp.

Azunar looked and saw a man. Some worthless human, the detritus beneath a behemoth Hive City. The decrepit man was walking through the Underhive when a divide in the road approached him.

The man took the path to the right.

At that moment Azunar saw it. Something small, shriveled and darker than the blackest of voids. It was created not by his choice to go right, but rather by the choice to go left. A choice not made, a warp reflection of what wasn't rather than what was. The black thing seemed to sink deeper into the Warp, like a stone dropped into a sea, somehow going _beneath_ the realms of the 4 Gods to the Apostle's perspective, disappearing from sight.

 _Their is no true geography to the madness of the Warp, as you know._ The Illuminor explained. _However, to put it in terms a mortal mind can understand, the 'dregs' of mortal action, the Negated pathways of fate, do not simply cease to be. They sink 'beneath' the roiling sea of madness that the Gods rule over. Their they return to the Final Depth of the Warp. Therein lies your answer. Therein lies the Ultimate Chaos._

Azunar's eyes widened with understanding. "The Highest Divinity..."

The Illuminor nodded. _The Absolute. The Truth. What the peoples of ancient Terra called God. I will teach you to glimpse the greatest truth of the Warp. I will grant unto thee as much knowledge of the Deep as you require. All you must do to receive this knowledge is follow my instruction._

Azunar thought silently to himself. He had little reason to trust the Daemon's words. The 'dreg' that he had seen could have been merely a trick by the warp entity, a twisting of his perceptions in that impossible realm. And it's power to resist his attack could have merely sprung from the Daemon's own inherent strength, and not some wider force beyond the four Gods he know. He could walk away and resume his normal role as Apostle of the Word, thereby negating whatever threat the daemon may pose as a potential deceiver.

And yet, the promise of a ever deeper understanding of the Sea of Souls, of the role of the concept of divinity in the wider universe, pulled at Azunar's senses like nothing else. In that moment, Slaanesh would rejoice, for the Apostle's ultimate desire took hold of his actions and will: not anything of lust or excess, but rather a state of spiritual perfection, of a full understanding of the universe's secrets.

He could not turn away from what had been calling him for centuries. He had isolated himself from his Host for too long to give up now.

"I will do what is needed." He said.

 _Excellent._ The daemon said, glee in her/it's voice. _Now, listen close._


	6. Actions of the Faith

**Interlude: The Actions of the Faith: Dissolute Revelations  
**

And so the Dark Apostle opened his ear to a creature of madness and dissolution. In this way he damned himself and his Host beyond even what the Dark Gods were capable of. But, in that sense, he got exactly what he was seeking. From late M42 to early M45, a series of concurrent events came into play that would be the foundation of the Truthbringer's revelation. This document will attempt to catalogue their heinous acts.

 _The Prophet's Gathering_

As part of the Illuminor's instruction, the Apostle began a great gathering. As the Emperor died and the Imperium was plunged into anarchy, Azunar orchestrated a great action by the millions of cults and covens aligned to him. They imitated the Black Ships of old, gathering Psykers by any means necessary, bargaining away whatever was needed to the Daemons that would otherwise destroy their desired cargo. The Illuminor instructed that the Psykers were needed. They would be the mortar for a Great Edifice. One that would pierce the Warp itself and unveil the Ultimate Truth the Apostle desired.

Across a thousand worlds, as Xenos and Daemons sprung up like wildfire and drowned worlds in blood and madness, red-hooded priests and regimented soldiers of baroque armor came to the destitute and desperate. They sermonized of the Emperor's glory, posing as Redemptionist priests, and offered salvation in exchange for the populace's contributions to their witch-hunts. It was a cruel deception, but it worked. One out of every five worlds within Segmentum Ubscurus that were not immediately destroyed by the rising madness rose up in roving mobs, hunting down and capturing any and all Psykers they could find. To the worlds where the Psykers had risen up and taken hold, the same priests promised something else: knowledge on how better to wield their power. It was through these twin lies that the Truthbringer's followers brought Psykers in their thousands to the Eye of Terror.

 _The Crone Worlds: Chaos Eldar_

The Crone Worlds. Ancient, madness-ridden corpses to the long dead Eldar Empire. The Apostle, Azunar, came to these worlds, alone, to meet with an unexpected ally.

On the world of Belial IV, near the Eyes very heart, the Apostle came face to face with El'Uriaq the Daemonancer. It was there that a pact was struck between the two lords of madness. For despite the dedication of the Host, the singular subfaction of the Word Bearers did not possess the power needed to gather all the Psykers that the Illumninor demanded. And so, El'Uriaq and the Lords of Twilight would aid Azunar in the gathering of Psykers, in exchange for the Warband's aid in the gathering of the ancient Eldar war machines known as 'Maton.'

The Brethren of the Willing, millenia later, would recognize the early reports of strange Eldar-like creatures working alongside Word Bearer astartes on rare yet widespread occurrences. It was the Host of the Truthbringer that were the first Sons of Lorgar to, albeit unwittingly, throw in their lot with the Deep Ones. Across countless Dead Worlds and Daemon Worlds, in the Halo Stars, Ghoul Stars, Koronus Expanse, Jericho Reach and other isolated corners of the galaxy, Word Bearer companies served alongside the Crone World Eldar to gather these great machines. And in exchange, the Psyker tides mentioned above were made possible.

* * *

The Apostle stood within the stygian chambers of the Desolation's heart. The angyllic creature stood before him, it's clawed hands folded upon it's lap.

"It has been done." The Apostle said. "A trillion Psykers, gathered to our banner, willingly or unwillingly."

 _Then we are close to our goal._ The Angyll said. _The time of your Illumination is at hand. Prepare yourself._

The Apostle turned to the dais at the center of the room, which flickered and surged with coruscating Warp energies. "What awaits us? Beneath, Above and Behind the Sea of Souls? I have seen the Warp's degrading affects on the mind and body, how will we survive what you claim to serve?"

 _You will survive because of my protection._ The Illuminor said. _You are useless to us dead, or insane to the point of utter irrationality._

The Apostle sighed angrily. "Of course, we return to uses. For a moment I believed you above the tricks and deceits of the Daemon."

The Illuminor would've smiled had it possessed a mouth. _All have a part to play in the Great Work of the Primordial Annihilator. There is no malice in that. Have faith. You are of the Sons of Lorgar, after all._

"The Sons of Lorgar are faithful to our Primarch and his vision of uplifting humanity." Azunar retorted. "Not the whims of some God-Womb that may not even exist."

 _It is good that you have doubt. For despite your skepticism and caution, you continue to follow my instruction. It only proves how desperate you are for the Truth. The universe screams that the Gods you worship will starve without you, the Mirror-Devils rise and the Devourer descends upon you. Remember that, Azunar, for it is why you cannot be content with the current consensus of Abaddon's Imperium: You are doomed if you are right._

(ATTENTION: ALL CONTENTS OF THIS NARRATIVE ARE TO BE RE-WRITTEN AS SOON AS POSSIBLE TO MAKE THE WHOLE THING BETTER. APOLOGIES FOR THE INCONVENIENCE.)


	7. ATTENTION

ATTENTION

This FanFic has been moved to The Bolthole forums. Please go there to see the new version, each chapter edited and rewritten.


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